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DORIAN DAYS 



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THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



DORIAN DAYS 



POEMS 



BY 

WENDELL PHILLIPS STAFFORD 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1909 

All rights reserved 






COPTEIGHT, 1909, 

By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up and elcctrotyped. Published December, 1909. 



J, 8. Gushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co, 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



Ci.A2528i5l 



CONTENTS 

PAOB 

The Belvedere Apollo 1 

The Singing of Orpheus 4 

The Playing of Marsyas 16 

Action at the Bath of Artemis ... 32 

Eurylochus Transformed 36 

The Death of Helen 46 

Among the Grecian Marbles .... 53 

The Venus of Melos 55 

Athens and Sparta 58 

The Return to Nature 60 

Keats 62 

The Betrothal 64 

The Muse of Paradox 65 

The Reason 66 

The Sistine Madonna 67 

The Fairy Kerchief 69 

On a Picture 71 

V 



vi CONTENTS 

PA6K 

Behold the Day 73 

Love Resurgent 75 

Love's Testament 77 

Guinevere's Defence 79 

September in the North 81 

Of Petrarch 85 

Dismissing the Muse 87 

The Song of the Fates 89 

Consulting the Daisy 94 

September the Eleventh 95 

Inscription for a Fireplace .... 96 

Paolo and Francesca 97 

Beside the Mark 98 

"Beyond the Sunset" 99 

Men's Judex 102 

New York 104 

Viximus 106 

Love Royal 107 

Gloria Victis 108 

The Forecast 110 

F. S. S. . . Ill 



DORIAN DAYS 



DORIAIT DAYS 

THE BELVEDERE APOLLO 

When God lets loose in eastern sky 

The arrows of the dawn, 
Who now beholds the hand whereby 

The splendid bow is drawn? — 

The lucent forehead crowned with curls 
Brighter than gold may be; 

The mantle thrown in silver swirls 
Leaving the shoulder free! 



2 THE BELVEDERE APOLLO 

One saw; and left for us to mark, 

In every marble line, 
The light triumphant o'er the dark, 

On-coming day divine. 

See, on the god's indignant brow 
The wrath has all but died; 

The hand that drew the string but now 
Is falling at his side. 

Soon all the passion stern and proud 

In that majestic mien 
Will vanish like a little cloud 

Into the sun serene. 



THE BELVEDERE APOLLO 3 

The sculptor — from an unknown grave 

His nameless dust is blown; 
But men of latest time will save 

This one immortal stone. 

And when all hearts exalt the lord 

Of light and liberty, 
All eyes will turn with one accord, 

Transcendent shape, to thee! 



THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS 

(on his return from hades) 

He came with mane unshorn, — 
Curls colored like the morn, 
With god-bewildered eyes and brow 
impending; 
He leaned his harp of gold 
Where rivers manifold 
Leaped in one shining shaft, seaward 
descending; 
Then stretched the cords and made his mantle 

slack; 
The night-shapes cowered at his feet, the 
sun rose at his back. 
4 



THE SINGING OF OBPHEUS 5 

Murmuring mystic things, 
He touched the strange-voiced 
strings, 
Waking with trembling art the strains 
of wonder, — 
Language of paws and wings, 
Song the insensate sings. 
The dove's glad moan, the jungle's 
throated thunder; 
Round him the thickets stirred and eye-balls 

gleamed; 
Once the lone eagle, poised on high, caught 
his war-note and screamed. 



6 THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS 

Still, as the music rose 
Sweeter at every close, — 
Blended the glee and pain, love and rage 
blended, — 
Nearer the wood-bird hid. 
Nearer the bright snake slid. 
Nearer with quivering nose the hare 
attended. 
Nearer and lowlier yet the leopard shied 
Till one bare foot was cushioned soft upon 
her spotted side. 

Parting the fountain's sedge, 
Close at its oozy edge. 



THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS 7 

With wet-lashed, wondering eyes, a 
naiad peeped; 
Deep in the dewy wood, 
Drunk with the music's mood. 
Crowned with gay flowers the satyrs 
_ laughed and leaped; 
>ff sped a faun to bring the Bacchic crew; 
'or well they loved the cheerful strain, and 
well their love he knew. 

No voice of hound or horn 
Roused the wild boar that morn. 
Crunching the night-dropt mast in sloth 
he fed; 



8 THE SINGING OF OEPHEUS 

Upon the windy down, 
In perilous ways unknown 
The woolly tribes wandered unshep 
herded; 
Hither with wreathed spears the hunter 

fare; 
To hear sweet praise of Pan to-day is all th( 
shepherds' care. 

He sang the heavenly mirth, 
Pang of the planet's birth. 
Primordial melody, chaos surceasing, — 
Why the dear daylight dies. 
Why the clear stars arise, 



THE SINGING OF OBPHEUS 9 

Why through the amber night the moon 

increasing 
Leads on the black sea-wall her white-maned 

tides 
Till the breath of their nostrils is vainly 

blown high on its thundering 

sides : 

How the earth came to be 

Pregnant with deity, 
Peopling the purple air, the waters wan; 

How, ages out of thought, 

By very gods forgot, 
When Heaven and Earth embraced, 
Titanic man 



10 THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS 

Sprang from their monstrous clasp a demi- 
god— 

His eyes were like the lightning, in his feet 
the lion trod: 

How from the throned skies 
Fell the old deities; 
How the hoar temple and star-pasturing 
plain 
From Saturn^s sceptre passed, 
And quarrels new and vast 
Sundered and shook his once serene 
domain; 
And unremembered odes of joy and love 



THE SINGING OF OBPHEUS 11 

Ere any shadow fell from heaven, or any fear 
of Jove: 

Sang the weird sisters three 
With eyes fixed constantly, 
With mutterings hoarse and horrid un- 
dertone; 
One twirls the spindle, one 
Leads the thread, thinly spun, 
Between the gaping shears; the eldest 
crone. 
Blind hearkener for the doom's accomplished 

round. 
Breaks off the hum whene'er she lists to 
give the clacking sound. 



12 THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS 

He sang the love-god great, — 
How Jove forsook his seat, 
In low disguise, for love of mortal maid; 
How, through the pine-glooms. Pan 
His love's white feet outran. 
What turns she took, what bounds the 
goat-thighs made; 
How fleet Apollo clasped the loveless tree, 
And how Tithonus pines in heaven, aging 
immortally. 

To tenderer strains he wed 
Man's joy and drearihead, — 
Lethean birth, and boyhood's prescient 
bloom, 



THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS 13 

Lovers sweet disquietude, 
The mid-life sweat and feud, 
Then age that looks aback and gather- 
ing gloom. 
At last the wailing ones in circling file, 
And dust enough to fill an urn raked from 
the smouldering pile. 

In tearful tones and slow 

He taught them all his woe; 
Again, in dead domains, he saw his bride; 

Hell followed his lament, 

Cerberus fawning bent. 
And Pluto wept the woes of mortal-tide : 



14 THE SINGING OF OBPHEUS 

Proserpina leaned from her glimmering car 
Reining the shadowy pards — her smile 
beamed like a dying star. 

Back through blind ways he pressed, 
Heeding the hard behest, 
Nor once looked round threading the 
ghostly grove, 
But on Hell's threshold sheer 
Her foot he failed to hear, — 
Turned, — Hermes touched her, and in 
vain she strove; 
The great gates shuddered to with mighty 
moan, 



THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS 15 

And up along his darkling path he sought the 
light — alone! 

Along the forest-side 
The stringed murmurs died; 
He loosed the cords and made his mantle 
fast; 
With low and leaden pace, 
And glory-faded face, 
Down the green alleys from their sight 
he passed. 
The swain bethought him of his sheep astray, 
And toward her lair, with side-long look, the 
leopard loped away. 



THE PLAYING OF MARSYAS 

(a faun's account of the contest be- 
tween THE SATYR AND APOLLO) 

Alack! give way! Pan, Pan, I bring thee 

news, — 
Oh, sadder than the forest ever heard! 

Now running through five green, bough- 
shadowed miles, 
I have not wet my hps in any brook. 
Nor pried for honey in one hollow trunk, 

16 



THE PLATING OF MABSYA8 17 

Nor hearkened when the hamadryads called, 
Although three times, at least, the wind has 

flown 
Heavy with laughter right across my path. 
So far and fast I flew to tell thee, Pan, 
That thou wilt never smile again to hear 
Sweet pipings rising with the rising dawn, 
Sweet pipings dying with the dying day, 
For Marsyas is no more, your joy is dead! 

Weep not for Marsyas now, an hour will 

come 
For sorrow-piercing wail — another tree 
Must be encircled when the hoofed beat 



18 THE PLAYING OF MARSYAS 

Shall make sad rhythm on the sullen sod, 
And I must teach you tears. Ah me! Ah 
me! 

O Pan, it is the dark enormous oak 
That leans with one foot on the sunny verge 
Of that gloom-girdled lawn where dozy bees 
String all the summer length of golden hours 
On the unbroken murmur of their song. 
Twas there we met, and Marsyas played 

while we 
Wove all our fleeting circles in and out 
That no unwonted step amid the maze 
Might mar the grace of thy solemnities. 



THE PLAYING OF MABSTAS 19 

Meantime from every vale un visited 

By Phoebus' wain, from deep-boughed 

silences, 
Unfooted paths where-through the swart 

flowers press, 
And secret sobbing-places of the sea, 
They thronged to hear his pipings. 

All at once 
It was dead silence, like the dead of night 
Just when the owl will split it with his cry. 
Just like the screech-owrs was that voice we 

heard 
Calling on Phoebus to bring down his lyre 
And shame our Marsyan music. 'Twas a 

faun, 



20 THE PLAYING OF MABSYAS 

But no one ever saw his face before 

Nor knew what forest claimed him. Marsyas 

cried, 
''The string may lull the languid ears of 

heaven — 
Pan's own breath fills the reed!'' Before 

'twas said 
The zenith lightened with the coming god 
And there Apollo stood, and all the grass 
Grew golden round his sandals. 

Then, Pan, 
All things swam round me, but I heard a 

noise, 
Two warring voices like two headlong streams, 



THE PLATING OF MABSYAS 21 

Meeting and mingling in one mighty oath 
To have their strife before the woods that day 
And let the vanquished bide the victor's will. 

So Marsyas cHmbed the cliff a Httle way 
And found a jutting seat and dropped his 

face 
Till the abundant shadow of his hair 
Buried the sacred reed and both his hands. 
Long time he sat as if he only slept, 
And quiet settled till no sound was heard 
But one bold cricket piping in the leaves. 

At first, far off, a billowy night-wind rose 
And died away among the dreamy boughs. 



22 THE PLAYING OF MARSYAS 

How sweet it seemed to slumber, with the lids 
Almost together, — just to see the light] 
And doubt if we were dreaming! Sweeter 

still 
To be awakened when the waking birds 
Sung all our eyes wide open, and the dawn 
Shook all her flowers above us. 

Rarest sport 
Was on, that morning; there were hares to 

rout. 
And mushrooms, the white blossoms of the 

dark, 
To pelt the dryads; there were acorn-cups 
With just a bright swallow of dew in each, 



THE PLATING OF MARSYAS 23 

And hoard of golden honey in the heart 
Of the night-fallen oak. 

That was a day 
The forest-children doomed to endless mirth. 
Still was the squirrel chiding; all day long 
The frogs were clamorous in the plashy 

swamp; 
All day, above the height, the eagle flew 
In screaming circles round her nest ; far down, 
A dark ravine sloped to the tangled East 
Where tawny lions, treading to and fro, 
Thundered; and ever as the day flew on 
Faster and faster flew the merriment 
Till all the woods were reeling in one dance 



24 THE PLAYING OF MARSYAS 

And every voice was music ! That was when 

The sun paused brightly over Pehon. 

But then the purple-shadowed Evening 

came 
And all the forest ways grew pensive, hushed, 
And all our musings grew a little sad, 
But sweeter for the sadness, — ah, more 

sweet 
Than maddest merry-making! 

Pan, is pain 
Only a pleasure we are yet to learn? 
For we were minded of all tearful songs, 
All tender stories; even then we wept 
At thy lost race for Syrinx and the reed 



THE PLATING OF MAESYAS 25 

That broke within thy bosom! So again 
Immortal Night came down; the billowy 

wind 
Arose and died among the dreamy boughs; 
And quiet settled till no sound was heard 
But that bold cricket piping in the leaves. 

Oh, all the forest folk were laughing then, 
And Marsyas smiled. 

Apollo sat apart 
Under the oak and drew a golden thing 
Out of his mantle, curved like the horns 
The oxen wear; and it had strings that 
glanced 



26 THE PLAYING OF MABSYAS 

Like lines of sun-lit rain. He whispered it 
And busied with the strings till all was 

still, 
And then the little wavelets of sweet sound 
Ran from his finger-ends till every one 
Was over-happy in his heart to call 
The contest even. But 'twas not to be; 
For the white lily of Apollo's throat 
Grew a great rose of wrath. Now as he 

struck 
The ringing chords he let his proud lips part. 

Oh, Pan! Pan! Pan! 
What pleasure now was in Athene's reed? 
What pleasure now was in Apollo's lyre? 



THE PLAYING OF MABSYAS 27 

As, when the first puff of the winter wind 
Takes by the top our tallest mountain tree 
And loosens all his leaves of ruddy gold, 
One shower unintermitted falls and falls. 
So fell in Phoebus' breath the golden words 
Till Marsyas smiled no longer. 

First he hymned 
The untimed chaos and beginning dark, 
And Fate before and midst and after all. 
No curled-up worm escapes it; Zeus, all- 
feared, 
Sceptred with lightning, is its loud-tongued 

slave, — 
Eternal consequence the frame of things. 



28 THE PLAYING OF MARSYAS 

Then how the heavens emerged, the earth 

became; 
Old starry legends of forgotten gods, 
Defeated fames and unveiled vh'gin loves, 
Ere Satm'n's long-lost wars. And then he 

sang 
What things he sees as he leans halfway o'er 
Reining the horse of heaven. Far down, 

between 
Their flying, flashing hooves and the burning 

wheels, 
He sees Olj^npus crowned with gleaming 

courts; 
Temples and dwellings of wide-wandering 

men 



THE PLAYING OF MARSTAS 29 

Gray deserts drear and endless, glad, green 

woods; 
And, rising on broad elbows, limbs out flung, 
The river-bearing mountains, mighty-zoned; 
Then coiling, blue-scaled ocean, verge of all. 
O'erhead he sees the gold-winged swarming 

worlds; 
He sees beyond the bourn of palest stars; 
He sees the trail of every birth and death, — 
Old Hades in the womb of maiden time; 
^Miatever was or is or is to be. 
All you have done to INIarsyas do to me, 
O sweetly cruel god, and more beside, 
Only unroll the long, gold song again! 



30 THE PLATING OF MABSYAS 

There was rich laughter now — but far away, 
As far off as Olympus. Marsyas' lips 
Were white — he clutched the reed. The 

song- voice said: 
^^Now I am going to my sun-bright house — 
When I have flayed him here and hung the 

fell 
Where all may see how fine a thing it is 
To strive with the undying gods." He drew 
Three long red osiers from the naiad's 

hands — 
Quick to the shaggy oak he bound him fast. 
I only lingered till the river of pain 
Broke, the first ripple, over Marsyas' face — 
Oh, keep us, keep us. Pan! The tale is told. 



THE PLAYING OF MABSYAS 31 

So the tale faltered to its tragic close. 
But where Apollo hung the hairy fell 
A river issued, and to deep-leaved boughs 
Murmurs the Marsyan music evermore. 



ACTION AT THE BATH OF 
ARTEMIS 

My dogs outran me. I could hear the boar 
Crashing through rushes inaccessible 
Beyond Peneus. So I lay and breathed 
In that deep-cloven glen where the stream 

whirls 
Three times within the cave-god's clinging 

arms 
Ere she escapes him. 

Listening, first I heard 
A breeze-hke motion rippling up the leaves, 

32 



ACTION AT THE BATH OF ARTEMIS 33 

Then sounds that followed, like spent hill- 
winds, close 
And quick with panting speed, — next saw 

her come 
Pausing mid-flight with leash of lolling hounds 
And startled backward glance. 

Watching her dogs 
Take the cool current on their dripping 

tongues. 
Once — twice — she peered above the pool, 

then droopt. 
Leaning along the mosses. 

Lingeringly 
Her fingers let the loosened sandals fall. 



34 ACTION AT THE BATH OF ARTEMIS 

One hand, slow, as in dream, sought the great 

pearl 
That clasped her zone; her eyes were far 

away. 
But when she stood, and, with white elbows 

arched 
Above her brow, drew up from shaded ears 
And lily-slender neck her heavy hair, 
Braiding the gold of one reluctant lock. 
The girdle gave. Softly the thin-spun robe 
Slipped o'er the crescent bosom, sank and 

left 
The twin breasts bare, — two white-rose 

buds, unblown 



ACTION AT THE BATH OF ARTEMIS 35 

But swollen with the sweetness of the spring. 
Then the long curve and slope of gUmmering 

limbs 
Broke on me, and I rest not from that hour. 

Are there no springs upon Olympus-side 
Where the immortal shapes may bathe and 

leave 
No memory to unman the mortal sight, 
But they must feel our streams and we must 

die? 



EURYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED 

(According to Homer, Ulysses, coming to the 
island of Circe, divided his band: one half 
remained at the ship, the other, led by Eury- 
lochus, entered the palace of Circe, where 
all, save their leader, partaking of the feast, 
were transformed to swine. In the following 
modification of the legend, Eurylochus him- 
self is supposed to have undergone the trans- 
formation, and to have spoken these words 
before and in the course of it.) 

Divine or human, by whatever name 
Mortals or gods have named thee, I salute, — 

36 



EURYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED 37 

With reverence I salute thee, I alone. 

They that be with me stay without the 

porch, — 
Half of their number; but the other half 
Are sitting with Ulysses at the oars. 
For, following still that much-enduring man, 
By many oarless waters we have come. 
Dim coasts, and islands with far-shadowing 

peaks. 
And moving floods from the dark wilderness. 
And one Infernal gulf in thundering seas. 
And we have met with monsters, men like 

beasts; 
Centaurs, that, issuing from the caverned 

hills, 



38 EUBYLOCnUS TRANSFORMED 

Eyed us unmovingly; Lotophagi; 

And Cyclops who devoured us day by day. 

And some have met us on the brink with 

blows, 
And some with smiles, and after that betrayed, 
Not knowing Zeus to be the stranger's 

friend. 
And some have paid us honors like the 

gods. 
Wine, and the sacrifice, and song of 

bards. 
And gifts at parting. For this cause I stand 
Alone to learn what welcome waits us 

here. 



EURYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED 39 

{Circe having answered and offered him 
the cup, he proceeds.) 

Thy words were gracious, had thy looks not 

made 
All words superfluous. But keep thy cup! 
It w^ere not fitting that my lips should wear 
The wine-stain, goddess, while Ulysses' ears 
Thirst for these tidings. Give me leave! . . . 

No more; 
I yield. And, first of all, I spill to thee 
The bright libation; never one so bright 
Since that old morn when, in the sacred bowl, 
At Aulis, peering, I beheld a face 



40 EURYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED 

New-bearded and with wide, forth-looking 

eyes, 
While near at hand the smitten oxen moaned, 
Greece waited, breathless, for the oracle, 
Far off the seamen called, and on my cheek 
I felt the breezes favoring for Troy. 

{He drinks.) 

Bacchus! What vine has bled into thy cup? 
I see the things that have been and shall 

be, — 
The gods, the earth-born race, the brood of 

Hell. 
Ah me! the pain! the quest without an end! 



EUBYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED 41 

For, doubtless, one in after-time will say: 
Eurylochus came once to Circe^s house, 
Seeking the day of his return from Troy. 
Then all the rest watched through the stormy 

night, 
But these reclined at the ambrosial feast. 
He told her all the travail they had borne: 
She gave him of the cup that loosens care. 
So one will speak, weaving a winter's tale. 
Thou wilt be gladdening others with thy 

smiles, 
But I shall lie in earth in alien land. 

Sweet are the lips of music, ever sweet, — 
Sweeter to ears weary of wind and wave. 



42 EURYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED 

Soft hands! white arms! Why should we 

rise at all? 
The gods rise not; prone at perpetual feasts, 
On sloping elbows they survey the world. 
Why do we work, knowing no work remains? 
Nothing abides; our very sorrows fade. 
Lest life should be made noble by despair. 
No new fire-stealer will high Zeus endure, 
Beak-tortured, on the lone Caucasian crag. 
To mock him with the never-changing eye. 
Oh, failing heart! how all dimensions, all. 
Have shriveled to the measure of thy hope! 
This life, which once was larger than all 
, worlds, 



EURTLOCHUS TRANSFORMED 43 

Now looks less huge than the marsh-gendered 

fly's, 

Whose Lethean past and infinite to-come 
Are rounded in one little, sunny hour. 
The gods are blessed, knowing they endure; 
The beasts are blest, not knowing but they 

last; 
But man is cursed, knowing that he dies, — 
Unhappy beast, striving to be a god! 

Oh, for the life dreamed under drowsy boughs 
By old Silenus and his careless crew! 
With happy satyrs clamoring his approach 
To happier fauns, who, hearing, off will flee 



44 EURYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED 

To prop the tipsy god, what time he nods 
Upon his dripping, purple-stained car, 
Half-holding, in one lazy, drooping hand. 
The leash of long-stemmed flowers wherewith 

he guides. 
At slumber-footed pace, the flexile, sleek, 
Indolent leopards, happiest of all! 

Nearer the kind earth better, nearest best ! 
To snuff the savory steam of upturned soil. 
To sally with the low-browed drove at dawn. 
Gurgling or jubilantly trumpeting. 
To where the sweet night-fallen acorns hide 
Under the lush, cool grasses, drenched with 
dew! 



EUBTLOCHUS TBANSFORMED 45 

I know the down-faced posture; now I feel 

The low, four-footed firmness. Let me go! 

The glaring lights are lost in grateful gloom! 

And now I scent the rain-washed herbage; 
now 

The welcome shine of slumberous pools ap- 
pears, — 

The oozy beds of odorous wallowings — ugh! 



THE DEATH OF HELEN 

(Those legends which made Helen the daughter of 
Zeus also asserted that the latter was un- 
willing his child should suffer death. His 
purpose was thwarted, however, by certain 
intrigues which then vexed the politics of 
the sky, and Helen passed to Elysium, not 
Olympus.) 

{Helen speaks.) 

Hermione, I truly think that Zeus, 
This morning, yielded — some such thing 
I heard 

46 



THE DEATH OF HELEN 47 

In sleep — and it is said among the gods, 
Helen to-day will die. 

Let no one now 
Run here with omens, if the sky turn wings ! 
Tell Lycidas I shall not need the herb. 
But pile my couch with purple in the porch — 
For there sleep leads me to the truest 

dreams — 
And I will look my last upon the sun 
O'er vallej^ed Lacedsemon. 

Bear me forth! 
For why should one the care of gods, the awe 
Of men like gods, pass like a sullen slave, 



48 THE DEATH OF HELEN 

Watched by a leech and fended from the 

day? 
SunHght I loved, and things that love the 

sun, 
But walls and glooms I loathe, and ever did, 
More than the grave! 

Enough. Now some one bid 
Antenor not to gild the heifer's horns; 
Then let all go. Why should I pray to live? 
My name may live to string a wandering 

harp, 
Swept to the hoarse chant of a wintry bard. 
My loveliness may linger in a song, 
But I may be no more the one I was. 



THE DEATH OF HELEN 49 

Nothing is any longer what it was. 
Last time I rode to Aphrodite's door 
I was gazed on by pygmies where of old 
Each common stone of the thronged stairs 

would seem 
To pedestal a god ! Girl, wilt thou smile 
To be beloved of men, as men are now? 
Far other were the ones I served that night. 
When, putting on a slave's disguise, I poured 
Their wine within the tent of truce. Beside 
The Scsean gate they pitched it, and the foes 
Mingled as friends. There I beheld, between 
Hector and Troilus, thy father dear; 
Yet Menelaus did not know his wife. 



50 THE DEATH OF HELEN 

Here sat Achilles; and I filled the cup 

For all — but his most slowly — all save 

one: 
Odysseus, only, watched me with side looks. 
This brooch I wore. It made the tunic tight 
About my shoulder. Suddenly it snapt 
And gave this whole arm naked to his eyes. 
He scowled at both Atrides. I — I came — 
Not back to pour his wine! . . . 

Oh, Paris! Are you very sure the dream 
Was sent by Aphrodite? Yet how dark 
The waves have grown! And howsoe'er we 
speed 



THE DEATH OF HELEN 51 

The foam's white fingers always point us 

back. 
Sweet, do not frown, lest Love, too, purse 

his brow! . . . 
Have I not trusted ? . . . 

Kastor! Kastor, — please! . . . 
No, Polydeukes; never will I bathe 
When those bright fish are darting in the pool ! 
I'll find my hollow where the deep green 

leaves 
Will cover me all over. Could you hear 
Now if I screamed? A fur-eared faun creeps 

up, 
Oft times, and frightens me just as I wake. 



52 THE DEATH OF HELEN 

Oh, Hermes! Hermes! I am glad. See, 

now, 
My feet depress the daisies less than thine! 
Is the way long unto Elysium? 



AMONG THE GRECIAN MARBLES 

Here lies the wreckage of old heavens up- 
thrown. 
This the wave spared to poor posterity — 
So much of all that golden argosy 

Which by the breath of the young dawn was 
blown 

O'er the blue laughing waters from unknown 
Marges of light and immortality — 
Spared for our eyes that impotently see, 

And for our greeting, which is but a groan. 

53 



64 AMONG THE GRECIAN MARBLES 

Oh; when will man again his lax loins gird? 
When will he leave soft Circe and her 
sty, 
Or learn to labor without looking 
down? 
Thou, thou, my country — in a dream I heard 
It was thy sons would dare the old sweet 
sky 
And bring back beauty for the earth 
to crown. 



THE VENUS OF MELOS 

He "ordered that the young women should 
go naked in the processions. 

— ''Lycurgus," Plutarch's Lives, 

Fair creatures! whose young children's children 

bred 
Thermopylae its heroes — not yet dead 
But in old marbles ever beautiful. 

— Keats, Endymion. 
56 



56 THE VENUS OF MELOS 

Thoughts of those deathless forms thou dost 
awake, 
That unashamed in beauty strode 

along 
Through the high Spartan street, a 
naked throng, 
Deep-wombed, with bosoms fit whereon to 

take 
The heads of hero husbands, or to make 

With strenuous milk the next-age man- 
hood strong, — 
Maidens that heard unfeared the 
Dorian song. 
Mothers of might the battle could not break. 



THE VENUS OF MELOS 67 

Spartan bride! — to me thou seemest so — 
The lovehness of mountain-heights 

thou hast, — 
As near to heaven, anchored to earth 
as fast, 
And yet suffused with such a tender glow 
As turns to fire their pinnacles of snow 

When rosy evening smiles her sweetest, 
last. 



ATHENS AND SPARTA 

Athens reclined, but Sparta sat, 

To take the cup. 
Deliberating, Athens sat; 

Sparta stood up. 

In speaking, Athens made a show 

Of word and wit. 
Spartan debate was Yes and No. 

That settled it. 

Athens, when all was vainly fought. 

Fled from the field. 
Sparta brought home, or else was brought 

Upon, the shield. 

68 



ATHENS AND SPARTA 59 

The Attic pen was wielded well; 

The world has read. 
What Lacedsemon had to tell, 

Her right arm said. 

Something the Spartan missed, but gained 

The power reserved 
That lets the crown pass unobtained, 

Not undeserved. 



THE RETURN TO NATURE 

(on reading WILLIAM MORRIS' POEM, THE 
DEATH OF PARIS) 

I MUSE the mournful story halfway through : 
How, in the lazy-leaguering times that 

wore 
Hard on Troy's end, one day was dire 
uproar 
Where Philoctetes' fatal arrow flew; 
And how, next morn but one, the garden dew 
Was brushed by feet of silent shapes 
that bore 

60 



THE JRETUBN TO NATURE 61 

The wound-sick man out of the palace 
door, 
Turning towards Ida and one vale he knew — 
But there I shut the book, nor any more 

Ponder of Paris, but ourselves, whose 
grief 
Is the world's arrow, dipt in venom sore: 

Like him, we make at last a visit brief 
To Her who loved us, and was loved, before, 

And pray, of the Implacable, relief. 



KEATS 

(''the true MARCELLUS of ENGLISH SONG") 

Why we turn a drowsy ear 

From the over-brimming sweetness 

Of the music-burdened year, — 

Why we list with hand a-hollow, 
Lean to catch and yearn to follow, 

Songs that half-bereave us here, — 

Who can tell us, dear? 

Neither may I tell thee, love. 
Why this hapless singer charms me 
Every happier bard above. 

62 



KEATS 63 

Lo, each other told his story, 

Won his maiden, wore his crown — 
Death in both hands shut the glory 

Of his unfulfilled renown. 



THE BETROTHAL 

Whatsoever vows were said, 
Never thou wert woman-wed. 
Sunset-flushed and starry-eyed 
Waited one to be thy bride. 
Ages ere thy Hsping word 
All thy loving songs she heard, 
All thy fond behests obeyed, 
All her charms for thee arrayed. 
She shall take thee for her own. 
Thou shalt worship her alone: 
Beauteous may others be — 
Beauty, soul and self, is she. 

64 



THE MUSE OF PARADOX 

Reach here thy hand — I am the utmost 

star; 
Look, and I am the darkness ; list — 
Only my silences are audible: 
Fragrance bewrayeth me by lips of flowers 
Precipice-loving, inaccessible : 
Pursue me — I will be the lightning-spark; 
Or dare me — I will be the thunder-stone : 
Be thou the fugitive — I am the goal : 
Wilt thou be old and die? I must be born; 
But be thou born — then I am he that died. 
Now have I told thee plainly who I am, 
So shalt thou never miss me when we meet. 

r 65 



THE REASON 

Why should I toil with thankless care 
To leave a work of beauty rare? 
When I am dead the flower will blow 
To finer shape than art can show; 
With sweeter songs than I can sing 
The morning wilderness will ring. 

But did the blossom or the bird 
Ask ever to be seen or heard? 
And I, if unobserved as they, 
The same deep impulse must obey. 

66 



THE SISTINE MADONNA 

Other madonnas ever seem to say, 

^^My soul doth magnify the Lord''; but 

she, 
Dove-Uke in sweetness and humihty, 
Has caught the words of wonder day by day, 
And kept them in her heart. Look as we 
may, 
The mother is yet more a child than he 
Who nestles to her. In his eyes we see 
The prophecy of lightnings that will play 
About the temple courts, the conqueror 

67 



68 THE SISTINE MADONNA 

Traveling in the greatness of his 
strength, — 
But in her eyes only the love 
unsleeping 
Wherewith, all times, he will be waited for, 
Which, as the cross lets down its load 
at length. 
Will take her babe once more into 
her keeping. 



THE FAIRY KERCHIEF 

So filmy I could almost furl it up > 

Inside an acorn-cup, 
Yet now I spread out all its fairy folds 

Green earth, starred heaven, it holds. 
For touching this I touch her half-seen 
hand, — 

Lady of Gloaming-land. 

I hear her where forgotten music pours 

Out of old forest doors; 
I meet her where the feet of dreamland go; 

But oh, I do not know 
Whether for me she let the kerchief fall, 

Or sees my face at all! 

69 



70 THE FAIBY KERCHIEF 

Faint fragrance of a nameless flower it bears 

Only our lady wears; 
Half-echoes of a haunting song it brings 

Only our lady sings; 
And when on day-blind lids it softly lies 

I see great gloaming eyes, 
Great shadowy nights of muse and mystery 
Where I would give all golden suns to see 

One little star for me! 



ON A PICTURE 

I THANK the painter whom this autumn scene 
Held like enchantment till his brush 

obeyed 
And touch by burning touch the charm 
conveyed 
To his cold canvas. Lazily between 
Its gorgeous banks in that all-mellowing 
sheen 
The slow stream spreads. The cattle 
unafraid 

71 



72 ON A PICTURE 

Drink. On the bridge above the boy 
and maid 
Through never-interrupted musings lean. 
It is my ow^.lost youth he painted there. 
So swelled one radiant autumn-tide 
around; 
So stood the sun in golden haze 
above. 
And as I look the old-time sweet and rare 
Comes back and fills the world without 
a sound, 
And love returns, and the first kiss 
of love. 



BEHOLD THE DAY 
(January 1, 1901) 

Behold the day The Lord sends down, — 

_ his dearest, 

Most beautiful of all about his throne, 
With azure eyes the sweetest and severest, 

Far-fiaming sword and silver wings far- 
flown! 
His naked foot is on the mountain nearest. 

His golden trumpet to his lips up thrown ; 
And for thine ears, world, if thou but 
hearest, 

73 



74 BEHOLD THE DAT 

The summons of the century is blown: 
" The word of truth that shaketh all foun- 
dations, 
The word of love that maketh all its own, 
The word of beauty, crown of all creations — 
These shalt thou hear and heed and these 
alone. 
Love, Truth, and Beauty — for all tribes and 
nations 
Be these the names whereby our God is 
known!'' 



LOVE RESURGENT 



(I 



My love no longer loves me — let me die ! 
The glory is gone out, upon the hills, 
And the gray downfall of its ashes fills 
The old bright places of the earth and sky. 
Why should I wander up and down and cry 
To every ghost of joy whose presence 

thrills 
The heart of sorrow till his cup over- 
spills? 
I will lie down upon my face and die/' 

75 



76 LOVE RESURGENT 

One bent above him with resplendent wing: 
*^'Twas not her love for thee set earth 

aglow; 

'Twas thine own love for her — 

that still is thine. '^ 

Joy sent him like an arrow from the string: 

^' Show me the rough ways where her feet 

must go — 

I never loved before, O Love divine ! " 



LOVE'S TESTAMENT 
(on a mirror) 
If you shall kneel some day at this clear 
shrine 
And find no comfort in its oracle, 
And think how sweetly the responses fell 
In days when life was dear and love divine; 
If you shall read its record, line by line. 
Of all the fluent years have had to tell. 
And muse of one who keeps the silence 

well, 

77 



78 love's testament 

Then you shall take to heart this word of 
mine: 

The years rob not your sweet brow of its grace; 
If with their libels it were all o^erwrit 

I would believe no word their fingers trace; 

And if God said J ''Thou shalt remould her face 
And fashion all as love shall find more fit, ^^ 
I would not change one dear, odd way in it. 



GUINEVERE^S DEFENCE 

We did not seek out love, 
But us, oh, us! he sought. 

The falcon with the dove 

Worketh the way he wrought. 

He fetched no dainty fare; 

He gave us gall to drink. 
And, round our shoulders bare. 

The Nessus robe to shrink. 

We saw this love appear 

Like God upon his throne. 

Guiding his winged sphere 
Along the heaven alone. 

79 



80 GUINEVERE' S DEFENCE 

We did not kiss his wand, 

Nor call his coming sweet. 

He smote us with his hand, 
He trode us with his feet. 

And when we sent our shrill 
Cry to the ears above. 

He only said, '^Be still. 

And know that I am love!'^ 



SEPTEMBER IN THE NORTH 

O LOVE, do you remember, 

When you and I were wed, 
That sun — a golden ember — 

Those hills — a regal red? 
It was not old November 

With ashes on her head; 
It was not cold December 

In mantle dun and lead: 
'Twas burning, bold September, 
'Twas gorgeous, gold September, 
'Twas scarlet-stoled September 

When you and I were wed. 

G 81 



82 SEPTEMBER IN THE NORTH 

It was not April heaping 

The snowdrops on her head; 
It was not summer sleeping 

With poppies round her bed; 
It was not winter faring 

With slow and sullen tread, 
For ball and sceptre bearing 

A withered staff instead; 
Twas golden-globed September, 
Sceptred and globed September, 
'Twas royal-robed September 

When you and I were wed. 



SEPTEMBER IN THE NORTH 83 

'Twas not Love's hour of roses: 

They faded ere he fled 
From sun-forsaken closes, 

Where all his dreams lay dead, 
With mantle frayed and flying 

And wounded wings outspread, 
To his own kingdom lying 

Guerdoned and garlanded. 
'Twas glory-rolled September, — 
Fold-upon-fold September, 
Purple and gold September, 

When you and I were wed. 



84 SEPTEMBER IN THE NOBTH 

Ah, sweet, do you remember? 

We lauded Love and said : 
'^Now June and not December 

Be counted drear and dread: 
Love kept his daffodillies 

Till all their gold was dead; 
He slept among his lilies 

Till all their gold was shed: 
But then he gave September, 
The bright and brave September, 
And now, God save September j 

When you and I are wed!'' 



OF PETRARCH 

(two thoughts) 



I ] 



Was Laura's loveliness, to all save one, 
But a fair chalice, empty of delight, 
Only a frozen miracle of art. 
Till Petrarch held it upward in the sun 

Where every winsome curve swam into 
sight, 
And brimmed it with the warm wine 
of his heart? 

85 



86 OF PETRARCH 

II 

Reading on Petrarch's page his Laura's life, 
The charmed Fame Hf ts not her eyes to 
ask 
What petty nobleman had her to wife, — 
What jeweled hand held hers through 
that night's masque: 
The night is gone; it is the poet's 

day; 
Smiling he leads his bride immor- 
tally away. 



DISMISSING THE MUSE 

If we plighted a tryst, the goddess and I, 
Then mistress the soot-face was sure to be 
there; 
If my sleeves were turned up, the muse would 
- stroll by 
Persistently humming my favorite air. 

So I fashioned a temple of light for the muse, 

And implored her to leave her low rival 

alone; 

And I found her a stithy as black as her shoes. 

And gave the drudge orders to keep to 

her own. 

87 



88 DISMISSING THE MUSE 

Now the slave goes up in her smoky frock 
And fills all the fane with the clatter of 
tools, 

And the goddess will perch on the anvil-block 
Till the fire goes out and the iron cools. 

It is plain that one of you two must go: 
Not you, dark maid, with averted eyes 

And breast half-naked to free the blow. 

Lest you prove, as I fear you, a god in 
disguise. 

But you, you other, with lips aflame 

And eyelids bright with the day of day, 

Shame of my pride and pride in my shame, 
Divinely perverse — Yet stay! oh, stay! 



THE SONG OF THE FATES 
(to e. s.) 
Thou to whom, hy presage strong, 
All tTie future's gifts belong, 
Take thy first of gifts — a song. 

Whosoe'er shall sing for thee 
When they set the cypress-tree, — 
Take a hirth-song now from me. 

Musing here, a moment gone, 
While unseen the hearth-light shone, 

89 



90 THE SONG OF THE FATES 

While unseen the flaming day 
Fell to ashes cold and gray, 
I have heard their spindle's drone — 
Adamantine monotone — 
To whose cadence, chorusing, 
Stars of eve and morning sing, — 
Overheard their muttered strain 
Spinning slow thy fragile skein. 
While their pauses, hushed and dread, 
Hope and fear interpreted. 

The Chant 

Long began our spindle's sound 
Ere the spool for thee was wound; 



THE SONG OF THE FATES 91 

Long again its sound shall be 
Ere 'tis wound again for thee; 
Evermore the threads begin — 
Nevermore for thee we spin. 
Yet before eternal heaven 
Unto thee this thread was given: 
All the gods of craft and power 
Could not thwart thee of thine hour. 

Lower, sisters, low and slow 
Let the words unerring flow: 
He shall go the way of all 
Where the fates, like chances, fall; 
He must seem his path to choose 
Where his feet cannot refuse. 



92 THE SONG OF THE FATES 

Closer, sisters, bend the head, 
Slow and slower lead the thread. 
Though betwixt our fingers run 
Strands that may not be unspun, 
Never, sisters, let him name 
You and me to bless or blame: 
If his life as heaven be glad. 
From himself that heaven he had: 
If his soul be bound to pain, 
'Twas his soul that forged the chain; 
For the thread we spin partakes, 
Making, of the power that makes. 
Humming through our solemn chant 
With the droning adamant, 



THE SONG OF THE FATES 93 

Giving voice with all our three 
To confirm the destiny. 

Now no cadence of our song 
In his ears may linger long, 
Yet he shall not shrink to do 
All the strain hath bound him to : 
The soul itself has doomed its state, 
And fate is equal to its fate. 



CONSULTING THE DAISY 

(He loves me — loves me not) 
I WONDER if my lover loves me still. 

I know he loved me madly yester-eve; 

His morning missive says I must believe; 

He threw a kiss back as he crossed the hill — 

But oh, such things may happen in an hour! 

Ah, does he love me now? Tell me, you 

Delphic flower. 



94 



SEPTEMBER THE ELEVENTH 

1889 
The child of man, blind offspring of the 

all-foreseeing past, 
Of anguished birth and dubious doom, is 

here. 
Joy now! with grief hereafter at the grave — 
If death be not the gods' last, perfect gift. 
Borne like their first between the knees of 

pain. 

96 



INSCRIPTION FOR A FIREPLACE 

Prometheus, Epimetheus — both are we, 
For looking in the fire we seem to see 
The things that have been and the things to 
be. 

VIM HABUIT DEMOSTHENES 

They say you had great vim. We cannot 

doubt it. 
Who could say such heroic things without it? 
There was that other story — pardon me — 

ah — 
But did you show your heels at Chseronea? 

96 



PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 
These hearts, two torches that together 

came 
In God's firm hand, burst into one bright 

flame. 
Which will you blame — the brands to ashes 

turned, 
Or the great Hand that held them while they 

burned? 



97 



BESIDE THE MARK 

Who cares how well the bow is strung, 
How finely wrought in every part, 

If, when the silver cord has rung, 

The arrow has not reached the heart? 



98 



"BEYOND THE SUNSET'' 

(j. C. E. D.) 

Singer, whose brow the god of song has 
bound 
With whitest fillets, and whose proud 

attire 
Proclaims thee of the purple-vestured 
choir 

That filled our younger day with golden 
sound, — 

Thou that with brighter garlands hast en- 
wound 

99 



100 BEYOND THE SUNSET 

Thy seaward prow, and with thy morn- 
ing lyre 
Charmest the waves beyond the sunset 
fire, — 
Tis not for me to crown thee: thou art 

crowned. 
And sweeter lips will greet thee from the 
shore 
Whereto thou sailest, for the happy 
strand 
Will be more happy when thy sail 
is seen — 



BEYOND THE SUNSET 101 

Lo where she comes ! still wearing as she wore 
Her singing robes — the roses in her hand — 
And rising, in her coming, like a 
queen. 



MENS JUDEX 

High on her single-seated judgment throne, 
With forward-gazing eyes, girded, erect. 
Sits the wide-browed, undaunted In- 
tellect 
Resolving her own doubt. Love, making 

moan. 
Clings round her neck; and reaching to her 
zone 
Pale Pity kneels; and, striving to deflect 
Her forthright vision. Falsehood stands 
bedecked; 

102 



MENS JUDEX 103 

Blind Rumor's trumpet in her ear is blown, 
And with raised hand white Vengeance 

whispers, ''Slay!'' 
Unmoved she sits till Falsehood gHdes away. 
Rumor lets fall his trump, Vengeance 
his stone, 
And Love and Pity turn aside to pray. 

Then, calling back her angels, heaven- 
ward flown — 
Justice and Truth — listens to these 
alone. 



NEW YORK 

Titan daughter crouching by the sea, 

Playing with ships and channehng the 
sands 

And gathering evermore in eager hands 
Poor shells and pebbles for thy jewelry, 
Unheedful how the nations swarm to thee 

From all the shallows of distressful 
lands, — 

More busy braiding weeds in idle bands 
Than mothering the millions at thy knee, — 
Oh, when thy destiny shall bid thee rise, 

104 



NEW TOBK 105 

And thy god-heart with love of man shall 

burn, 
How towards thy feet the human tides 
will yearn, 
While all the muses waken in thine eyes. 
And floods of blessing leave thy lifted 
urn 
As April mornings overflow^ the skies! 



VIXIMUS 

Oh, love, the song is vain and all is vain — 

Vain as long days when death is drawing 

near! 
Yet we who love between a smile and 

tear 
Loving have lived if none may live again. 



106 



LOVE ROYAL 

Your face, my lady, in its flowery prime, 
A fair sweet kingdom, owned me for its 

king. 
Do monarchs hold their realms in winter- 
time 
Less dear than in the spring? 



107 



GLORIA VICTIS 

Let the song cease and him who sang depart, 

Singer and song have found enough of 

praise; 

The tale was all for one and touched her 

heart ; 

He only sang to one and wore her bays. 

Bear the dead knight in triumph though 
o'er thrown; 

108 



GLOBIA VICTIS 109 

The herald, who proclaims him con- 
quered, lies; 
He jousted for his queen's delight alone, 

And she looked on him with acclaiming 
eyes. 

Let the pale martyr bleed; he but obeyed 
The unrelenting conscience's behest. 

Of her, not of the world, he walked afraid. 
And when he gave her all she gave him 
rest. 



THE FORECAST 

What losses and crosses 

Our coming dawns may bring, 
What stories, what glories, 

Our setting suns may sing — 
Be still! 'tis not for men to say 

What shape the gods may wear; 
'Tis ours to greet them day by day 

And take the gifts they bear. 



110 



F. S. S. 

In the strange heaven of my distracted soul 

The sun's red largess falls now east, now 

west; 

Star after star rises and goes to rest 

In burning beauty; from vast goal to goal 

The stately constellations poise and roll; 

The sweet, sad moon veils and unveils 

her breast, 

Luring her lover on a far, foiled quest — 

Not such art thou, my pure star of the pole! 

Ill 



112 F. S. S. 

Nought knowest thou of change. Thou 
risest not, 
Nor goest to thy setting. Never thou, 
Waxing and waning, growest dim or 
bright. 
But, with calm, equal splendor ever fraught, 
Thou shinest ever where thou shinest 
now. 
To give my soul safe-conduct in its 
night. 

October, 1909. 



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Book of Golden Deeds. 

Book of Worthies. 

Byron, Lord. Poems. 

Campbell, Thomas. Poems. 

Children's Garland. 

Children's Treasury of Lyrical 

Poems. 
Epictetus, Golden Sayings of. 
Golden Treasury Psalter. 
House of Atreus. By ^schylus. 
Jest Book. By Mark Lemon. 
Keats, John. Poems. 
Landor, W. S. Poems. 
London Lyrics. 
Lyric Love. 
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, 

Thoughts of. 
Miscellanies. By E. Fitzgerald. 



Moore, Thomas. Poems. 
Pilgrim's Progress. By John Bun- 

yan. 
Religio Medici. By Sir T. Browne. 
Robinson Crusoe. By D. Defoe. 
Rossetti, C. Poems. 
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. 
Shakespeare, W. Songs and Son- 
nets. 
Shelley, P. B. Poems. 
Southey, R. Poems. 
Tales from Shakespeare. By C. 

Lamb. 
Tennyson, Lord Alfred. 

Idylls of the King. 

In Memoriam. 

Lyrical Poems. 

The Princess. 
Theologica Germanica. 
Tom Brown's School Days. By T. 

Hughes. 
Trial and Death of Socrates. 
Wordsworth. Poems. 



The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English 
Language. Two volumes in one, $ 1.50. 



A Complete Catalogue of this Series sent on Request 



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